


Walking Wounded

by Ghostinthehouse



Series: Ficlet Omens [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), Gen, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pre-Fall (Good Omens), Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 06:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20092951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostinthehouse/pseuds/Ghostinthehouse
Summary: "Your name?" Raphael asked."Aziraphale." Fine trembling gripped the angel, and it didn't look quite right for pain. "When will I be going back to the front line?""Depends," Raphael said. "You've done quite a number on this leg. How did you manage it?"





	Walking Wounded

Raphael took no part in the fighting. Instead, the Healer focused on patching all the injured angels back together enough to return to the front line.  
  
He looked up as another angel was miracled directly into one of his ward beds and moved briskly to the patient's side. A Principality this time, with scores of burns and cuts and a badly mangled leg that looked almost shredded at the thigh. Probably leading from the front, doing something heroic, and eager to get back to it. Raphael swept a cleansing over the minor injuries, stopped the bleeding, and braced himself for a long and difficult healing on that leg.  
  
There was a tremor in the Principality's aura and an odd brightness in the angel's blue eyes, as he removed what armour he could reach and stacked it beside his flaming sword.  
  
"Your name?" Raphael asked.  
  
"Aziraphale." Fine trembling gripped the angel, and it didn't look quite right for pain. "When will I be going back to the front line?"  
  
It sounded more resigned than the expected eagerness, and Raphael looked closer. "Depends," he said. "You've done quite a number on this leg. How did you manage it?"  
  
"Oh, uh, I was, um, protecting my newer recruits." Aziraphale closed his eyes and pressed determinedly back into the bed, clearly bracing against pain this time. "They haven't seen what... what I've...seen." He trailed off, but his aura told another story, flickering with spikes of grief and despair and horror, beside the underlay of duty and bravery. This one had seen more war than he could take, and it had wounded him to the soul and heart, not just the body. He would go back if he was sent, this angel, he would do his duty until the end, fight bravely, and never question, but the dissonance was testing him to destruction.  
  
"I can have you walking soon enough, I think," Raphael told him, as he began to piece the leg back together, "but it may be some time before you'll be up to the battlefield again." Relief pulsed against his hands and he smiled. A note found its way into Aziraphale's medical records, labelling him as walking wounded and temporarily assigned as ward assistant while he healed. Raphael was angry, and he had questions about the right of the war, and the Healer was not going to have his patients sent out before they were ready.  
  
***  
  
An eternity and several days later, a demon approached his old patient, and assessed him again. The wound didn't seem to be bothering Aziraphale, at least not in this corporate form, which was a relief. He'd repaired it to usability. Hopefully someone had finished the job that Raphael hadn't had time to do before he Fell, but he wasn't going to mention that. It wasn't the time or the place.  
  
Instead, he asked, "Didn't you have a flaming sword?"  
  
***  
  
6000 years later, a discorporated Aziraphale would stumble on landing as the old wound reminded him of its presence. Raphael had never had time to heal it fully, and that meant...  
  
"I have no intention of fighting in _any_ war!"


End file.
